


The Cost of Nothing Done

by MrsHamill



Series: Grandmother Raven: The Path of a Shaman [10]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drama, Episode Related, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-08-10
Updated: 2001-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 07:01:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsHamill/pseuds/MrsHamill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Blair changes, Grandmother gets mad, and Jim finally gets it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cost of Nothing Done

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during and after The Sentinel by Blair Sandburg. Thanks to Bone, who, all unwitting, solved a big puzzle for me. For Fox, as always.

_Since all that I can ever do for thee_  
 _Is to do nothing, this my prayer must be:_  
 _That thou mayst never guess nor ever see_  
 _The all-endured this nothing-done costs me._  
  
          -- Edward, Earl of Lytton  
  


* * *

"Hi. Thank you all for coming. I just have a short speech prepared here. Um... In our media-informed culture, a scientist receives validation by having his or her work published and after years of research there is great personal satisfaction when that goal is reached. However, my desire to impress both my peers and the world at large drove me to an immoral and unethical act. My thesis 'The Sentinel' is a fraud. While my paper does quote ancient source material, the documentation proving that James Ellison... actually possesses hyper-senses is fraudulent. Looking back, I can say that it's a good piece of fiction. I apologize for this deception. My only hope is that I can be forgiven for the pain I've caused those that are close to me. Thank you."

* * *

  
Somehow, Jim made it through the throng of murmuring people surrounding the TV and down the steps to the garage. Numb, he climbed into the truck, started it, and pulled out onto the street, only remembering to breathe when he noticed spots before his eyes. Blair's words rang in his head, 'My thesis is a fraud.' 'A good piece of fiction.' 'I hope I can be forgiven.' God. What had he done? What had either of them done?  
  
Fear-based responses. Jim growled and slammed his palm into the steering wheel, relishing the minor pain as not even a tenth of his due. He had acted like an asshole to Blair, accusing him of things that he _knew_ Blair would never do. But the whole thing had taken him so much by surprise, put him into so much shock, and then when he had found out that it was _Naomi's_ fault, well, how the hell can anyone get mad at Naomi for God's sake? The woman was a damn force of nature.  
  
Driving aimlessly, Jim fought down his emotions. At his second near-miss -- accompanied by blaring horns -- he jerked himself to awareness of his surroundings and pulled over to the curb, shutting down the truck's engine. The hands he held in front of his face shook uncontrollably, and even after he placed them on the wheel and gripped tightly, he could feel them tremble.  
  
Leaning forward, he rested his forehead on the steering wheel. What do you say to a man who's given up his life for you? How do you thank someone for sacrificing everything -- giving up dreams, hopes, desires -- in order to save another? Jim recalled an acquaintance in his platoon whose friend had died to save him. The guy who had been saved was never the same; he'd ended up taking medical discharge and disappearing.  
  
What Blair had done was tantamount to the same thing. His dissertation -- his Ph.D. -- was his life. And he had given it all up for Jim.  
  
Jim's intent was to go to the hospital, to see how Simon and Megan were doing. Simon should be out of surgery shortly. So he needed to go to the hospital. Somehow, that's not where he ended up. Considering the truck was still in one piece and no one had called the patrol on him, he considered it quite a feat to have ended up outside the CNARC, legally parked as well.  
  
He sat still in the driver's seat for a few minutes, his eyes unfocused, remembering how to breathe, trying to decide, trying to figure out, why he was even here. Numbly he climbed out of the truck's cab and walked down the flagstone path to the big wooden doors. Ignoring the receptionist -- who was quite used to him now anyway -- he walked straight back down the hallway, turning the corner that would take him to Grandmother's cubby.  
  
Jim heard the sobs before he reached the open door, and stopped in shock. Blair was on the floor, his head in Grandmother Raven's lap, his arms wrapped around her solid middle, weeping uncontrollably. She sat in her big chair, running her hands soothingly through his hair, but looked up as Jim stopped in the doorway. Her face was hard and unforgiving, and accused him sharply without a word. After a moment's stunned silence, Jim turned on his heel and made his way back to the truck.  
  
Dear God in heaven. What had he done?  
  


* * *

  
Sniffing, feeling like a baby, Blair forced himself to stop crying. Grandmother continued to stroke his hair, soothing him, calming him. When he finally managed to pull his head out of her lap, she handed him a tissue and waited calmly while he wiped his face and blew his nose.  
  
"Why are you here, Blair?" she asked him, not unkindly. "You should be with Naomi. She's your mother, _memim'en steqeiye'_ , not me."  
  
"I can't," Blair rasped, his throat raw. "If I see her again, I'm gonna kill her. What she _did_ , Grandmother..."  
  
"Was nothing more than any mother might do for her beloved son," Grandmother interjected softly. "I'm not trying to excuse her, Blair -- you're partially right. What she did was inexcusable. But this is something you're going to have to let go. It's done. Nothing can turn back the wheel of time."  
  
"It was everything I've..." Blair choked out. "My life... my whole life..."  
  
Grandmother swallowed and blinked rapidly, silent for a long moment. "Then you must make for yourself a new life," she said gently.  
  
"Where? How?" Blair cried, standing. He paced the room for a moment before coming to rest next to the wall, leaning his forehead on it. The coolness of the wall felt good against his overheated skin, so it was a while before he noticed that she hadn't answered him. Willing his body to move, he turned to look at her.  
  
She sat in her chair, studying her hands, her breath hitching. As if alerted by his regard, she looked up at him, and he shuddered anew at the desolation in her eyes. "Were I able to take this pain from you, my _khwew'itchi'steng kw sh'nei'ems_ , I would. Were I able to answer all your questions, I would. It is my failure that I can't."  
  
"Your failure," he whispered. "No. That's not true. Not your failure."  
  
"Then whose?" she asked reasonably. "Naomi's?"  
  
He thought for a moment, realizing as he did so that her strategy was working, and as his mind turned to the puzzle it calmed. "No," he said at last, sadly. "What she did was terribly wrong, but ultimately it is not her failure."  
  
"Jim's?" she asked, and her voice was harsh. Obviously, she blamed Jim for a lot of this.  
  
Again, Blair thought, wincing as he thought back to the harsh words Jim had thrown at him. Thrown at him out of fear, he knew, but still. There was only so much a person could forgive. But...  
  
"No." Blair's tone was decisive. "He acted out of fear, pain and anger, but the failure is not his."  
  
"He could have given up his life for you," Grandmother argued, and he looked at her sharply. "Retired from the field, left his life, as you have done. He didn't even offer to, though, did he?"  
  
"No. And I wouldn't have wanted him to," Blair said, surprised at the pride in his voice. "Jim is... who he is. He doesn't have the flexibility to change that I do. It was not his failure."  
  
"Then who holds the failure?" Grandmother asked. "That bitch Edwards?"  
  
Despite himself, Blair barked out a laugh, then wiped his face with his sleeve. "She's got a lot to account for, as does that idiot Graham at the publishers. But no." He took a deep, wavering breath, held it for a while, then blew it out slowly. "No. The failure is... the failure is mine."  
  
Rather than contradict him -- as he had half expected -- Grandmother's face didn't even change. "Why?" she asked. "Why is the failure yours?"  
  
Wrapping his arms tightly around himself, Blair leaned back against the wall for support. "Because I knew -- all along. I knew I had gone native. I knew I had compromised my research. I knew there was no way I could publish without shit hitting so many fans we'd all be covered in it to our hips. I knew, and did it anyway," he finished in a whisper. His eyes were wide, but he saw nothing. Curiously, the tight, hot metal band that had been squeezing his middle began to ease with the admission.  
  
"I should have changed my thesis, well over a year ago," he continued, still in little more than a whisper. "I should have gone to Sidney and admitted it was a no-go. I could have even explained why, he would have understood, and I would have avoided all this. But I didn't."  
  
"Why?" she asked him again, quietly.  
  
"Because..." Intending on giving the explanation he had always given himself, Blair found himself choking on the words. "Because..." It wasn't because discovering a Sentinel was his be-all and end-all of existence. It wasn't because anthropology was his dream, even his life-long dream. "Because..." If those reasons -- and good reasons they were, too -- weren't why, then what was? "Because... it would have meant giving up Jim," he finally finished, blinking. _That_ was why.  
  
Blair forced air into his lungs with a gasp, then finally focused on Grandmother. "Because I couldn't bear the thought of giving up my time with Jim, my place with Jim. I couldn't give up Jim. Because he's become more important to me than anthropology, or the Sentinel, or my degree. Because I love him." Staggered by that last admission -- he certainly hadn't been expecting _that_ \-- Blair swallowed against the thickness in his throat.  
  
After long, silent minutes of contemplation on both parts, Grandmother finally spoke. "Congratulations, _sh'nei'ems_ ," she said softly, thickly. "You have passed through the fire. Now all you need to do is heal."  
  


* * *

  
Finally, Jim found himself at the beach, staring through the truck's windshield at the surf. The waves were in good form today, he noticed absently, but looked cold. Without a wetsuit, a body would probably cramp up and sink within a few minutes out there today. Especially if that body did nothing to help itself.  
  
Doing nothing had become almost a mantra for Jim of late, mainly because whenever he tried to do something, it backfired. But the cost of doing nothing this time was too high; he was unwilling to pay it, unwilling to face what it would mean. Because this time, the cost was losing Blair, and that was the one thing -- in the sea of improbabilities that had become his life -- he refused to pay.  
  
There would be a way out of it. There had to be. But first, he had a killer to catch. Arrange your priorities, Ellison, he thought to himself; Zeller first, then think of a way to get yourself and Blair out of this mess.  
  
Resolute, he started the truck and headed back to the hospital. Simon should be out of surgery. Then it was back to work.  
  
He hadn't expected Blair to be in the ICU waiting room, but there he was, his face pale and drawn, looking through the glass at Simon. The big captain could barely be seen through the maze of wires and tubes, but Jim could hear his heart reassuringly thumping.  
  
Blair glanced up as he entered the room, but immediately looked back down. "Hey. The doc said the surgery went well and the bullet missed major organs on both of them, but, uh, he said they can leave in about a week or two."  
  
"Thank God," Jim replied, coming to stand as close to Blair as he dared. The heat from the smaller man filled his body and melted some of the ice that had grown in his soul.  
  
"So, I heard you guys probably got Zeller," Blair said after an uncomfortable silence.  
  
Grateful to be back on firmer ground, Jim replied, "I don't know. Somebody probably got him. We still got Bartley to contend with. I don't know which one's worse." Blair smiled briefly, weakly, at the lame joke. "I saw your press conference." There. It was out.  
  
Blair wouldn't look at him. "Oh, yeah, you saw it?" He cleared his throat before continuing. "It's just a book."  
  
"It was your life," Jim said softly, not adding _as you are mine_ anywhere but in his head.  
  
Thankfully, Blair didn't try to deny it. "Yeah, it was." Blair fell silent, scuffing his toe on the old linoleum floor. "You know," he finally added, stuttering a bit, "you were right. I mean, uh, I don't know what I was expecting to do with it, and, uh... I mean, where do I get off following you around for three years pretending I was a cop, right?"  
  
"This self-deprecation doesn't suit you, you know," Jim said, irritated at Blair's little speech and not sure why. After a pause, he continued, more softly, more sincerely. "You might have been just an observer, but you were the best cop I've ever met and the best partner I could have ever asked for. You've been a great friend and you've pulled me through some pretty weird stuff."  
  
Blair looked down, but Jim could feel the heat from his face. "Thanks," he said, and his voice sounded -- relieved. Thankful.  
  
What a shitty apology, Jim thought. But what he needed -- wanted -- to do could not be done in public. Sighing, he asked, "Are you ready to get busy?"  
  
His head whipping up so fast he should have gotten whiplash, Blair looked fully at Jim, his jaw dropping. Slowly, a beautiful smile blossomed over his face. "Yeah. Let's go get this asshole."  
  
"You and me, partner," Jim murmured, gesturing for Blair to precede him.  
  


* * *

  
Being in the hospital gave you lots of time for thought. They wouldn't allow Jim out for 24 hours, since he had lost a lot of blood on the roof and they had to make sure his body was replenishing. He took it with unusually good grace, startling the doctors and nurses who were familiar with him, and used the time flat on his back to think.  
  
So. He had done nothing, and it had come back to bite him in the ass. Perhaps it was time for him to actually _do_ \-- something, despite the fact that _doing_ usually meant _failing_. But he did nothing and still failed, he argued with himself. So wouldn't it be better to be able to say -- at least to himself if not to someone else -- that at least he had tried. At least he'd had good intentions.  
  
But what to do? How to mend this? The analytical mind of the detective took over during his restless 24 hours and picked the problem apart, thread by thread. There was the thread of the University, who had taken Blair's declaration of fraud at face value, instantly, immediately. That was Chancellor Edwards -- he'd take great pleasure in dealing with her, yes sir. Then, there was what Naomi had done... well, nothing to do about that, but that Sid Graham person had compounded the slight foul a hundred-fold. A thousand-fold. Yeah, that guy had a lot to account for.  
  
Then there was the fact that Blair wouldn't be allowed to be his partner at the station any more, not without the polite fiction of a dissertation to write. Okay, what to do about that? With a shock, Jim realized that all his planning hinged on the fact that Blair would actually forgive him his transgressions, and would want to stay with him. Ruthlessly shoving that aside, Jim grabbed a pad and pen and started to write, making a list of things to do, and then began making phone calls.  
  
The next morning found Jim perched on the edge of Simon's bed, his leg elevated by a convenient chair, both men talking earnestly and softly. The bedside table was covered with papers and forms. Joel, coming to visit Simon, stopped in the doorway, blinking. "Two for one?" he asked, puzzled. "Jim, man, I was going to stop by and see you when I was done with Simon. Blair asked me to take you home, since they're busting you loose."  
  
Jim looked up sharply. "Where's Sandburg?" he asked quickly, then grimaced. "Sorry, Joel. I meant to say, thank you, and what's up with Sandburg?"  
  
Joel came all the way into the room and sat down, smiling wearily. "That's okay. He said he had some work to do at the university. I don't mind, man, consider me your limo driver."  
  
Simon and Jim exchanged significant looks at Joel's words, and Jim turned back to Joel. "Well, I hope you've got time, then," Jim said. "Because I've got some errands that have to be run today."  
  
"Sure," Joel replied, still puzzled. He looked between the two men. "You two are up to something," he decided. "What's going on?"  
  
"I knew there was a reason why you made the big bucks," Simon said, softly and dryly. Jim had been glad to see Simon looking much better that morning, although he still didn't move much or speak beyond a low monotone. "You'll find out with the rest of us, if it works," he added. "I've got this end now, Jim, go on and get your end done."  
  
"Thank you, sir," Jim said, carefully rising with Joel's quick help. Before he passed out of reach, Simon grabbed his hand, gripping it tightly.  
  
"It'll be okay, Jim," Simon said, and the softness was very earnest. "You've got to believe that."  
  
"I'll do my best," Jim replied, squeezing back for a moment.  
  


* * *

  
The next few days were frenetic, not only for Jim and Simon, but Joel as well. Puzzling for Joel, too, as neither man would fill him in on what was happening. Sometimes Jim felt almost sorry for poor Joel, driving Jim from downtown office high-rise to the courthouse to the station to the retreat where Naomi was staying and then back to the hospital, but when his mission took over, he couldn't care.  
  
The only sour note came the first night home from the hospital. He walked -- okay, limped heavily -- into the loft to find Blair hunched over a box. Several others littered the floor; Blair was obviously in the process of going through them and stacking them up. To Jim's eyes, he looked awful -- pale and hurt.  
  
"Hey, Jim," he said wearily, immediately rising to help. "I've changed the sheets on my bed, and cleaned out the room a bit, so you can just hit the hay. Where've you been all day, anyway?"  
  
"Errands, Chief," Jim said, gently taking his jacket from Blair and hanging it on the hook. "Joel was my chauffeur. What's all this stuff? And I'll sleep on the couch, don't worry about it."  
  
"It's... it's part of my office," Blair replied shortly. "And you won't sleep on the couch. You'll sleep on the futon. It's not that bad."  
  
"Chief," Jim said, hiding his dismay over the contents of the boxes, "I'm not throwing you out of your bed. Don't worry about it."  
  
Blair sighed. "Jim, just give it a rest and shut up about it, all right? You're sleeping on my fucking bed for now. If it'll make you happier, I'll sleep on yours."  
  
Would it make _you_ happier, Chief? Jim wondered to himself. But Blair looked so defeated, so drawn, that he didn't have the heart to continue. "Yes, it would," he said instead, swallowing back the rest. Blair shot him an enigmatic look at those words, but he had no time to decipher it.  
  
"So what drugs do you have to take? It was Bruckner, wasn't it? I wish I could have been there, but he knows your allergies pretty well." The chatter did little to hide the exhaustion in Blair's posture and Jim ached to see it.  
  
"Just amoxicillin, and Percodan for the pain," Jim replied, removing both bottles from his pocket. "Joel picked them up for me. I don't think I'll need the narcotic, though -- the dials are holding pretty well."  
  
"Good," Blair said, then turned his pale, defeated face away. "There's leftovers in the fridge, man, let me know if you need any help."  
  
That was the longest conversation they had for two days. Blair would disappear early, before Jim was up or shortly after he had crawled out of bed, and wouldn't return until Jim was asleep. Joel continued to drive Jim around, and Simon continued to improve -- rapidly, to the delight of the nursing staff who were getting weary of his domineering manner and rapidly recovering voice.  
  
Once everything was in place -- in record time -- Jim paid a visit to the university and Chancellor Edwards. It was a trip he had been looking forward to with a rather unholy glee, fully intending on retrieving his pound of flesh any way he could get it.  
  
In this mission, he had been helped by Blair's friend Rick Feldman and Rick's girlfriend, Jill. Jill just _happened_ to be the sister of the Chancellor's secretary, and Rick and Jill both were two of the many friends who had called in support of Blair after the press conference.  
  
The phone calls had been split, but what Blair didn't know was that the supporters far outweighed the detractors. The first few messages on the machine were cretins calling to gloat -- Jim took care of those -- and after that, Blair refused to listen. So Jim did -- with Blair's apathetic agreement -- noting who sincerely cared and who were openly malicious. Rick and Jill, knowing both of them from the Ventriss case, were all too delighted to help Jim.  
  
The ambush was set for two-fifteen, in a pocket of time devoid of any appointments. Jim had Joel drop him off out in front of the administrative building a few minutes before, and he limped in precisely at 2:15.  
  
Amy, the Chancellor's secretary, looked up as he came in, grinned evilly for a split second before squashing it. The door behind her, to the inner sanctum, was open a few inches, which explained why she said loudly, "Can I help you, sir?"  
  
"I'm here for Edwards," Jim growled, his eyes dancing maliciously.  
  
"Do you have an appointment?" The girl must be a theater major, Jim thought, appreciatively, as he took in her serious face and puzzled tone. He didn't answer her question, continuing inexorably towards the other door. "Sir? Sir! You can't go in there, stop... Chancellor!"  
  
Jim burst into Edwards' office like an avenging angel on crutches. The black scowl on his face -- not in the least bit faked -- would have scared it right out of anyone, and Edwards was not immune. She stood as the door opened and immediately recognized Jim. Her face drained of all color.  
  
"Amy, call campus security," she said, trying for a firm tone which was ruined by the squeak in it.  
  
"Yes, please do," Jim snarled. "I'm sure Suzanne would make an excellent witness to what is going to happen here."  
  
Amy skittered back out into the anteroom, and Jim took satisfaction at the way she chuckled under her breath. She made no move toward her phone.  
  
"De-- Detective Ellison," Edwards stuttered. "What are you... I'm a very busy... I resent this intrusion..."  
  
"Make up your mind, Edwards," he said, still growling, as he took the seat before her desk with a concealed sigh. He would show no weakness before this bitch. "What little you have, anyway. What do you want to say? And make it quick, because I've got a _lot_ I want to say to you."  
  
Still standing behind her desk, her eyes and mouth wide, she gaped at him. Jim could hear her heart hammering in her chest, and her hands trembled. When she didn't speak, he continued. "Fine, then."  
  
Reaching into his breast pocket, he removed a folded sheaf of papers. Separating one set out, he threw it on her desk. " _That_ is a copy of a lawsuit, a civil suit, filed against Berkshire Publishers and one Sidney Graham, separately and in conjunction. Filed by me, with Blair Sandburg implicit co-plaintiff, for invasion of privacy, copyright violation, defamation of character, violation of implied contract, and anything else my lawyer could think of. And he's highly paid specifically to think of such things."  
  
 _Thwack_. Another set of papers hit her desk. " _That_ is another lawsuit, as yet unfiled, written by my lawyer and awaiting Blair's approval to file, against this university and you, specifically and in conjunction with the university, for violation of contract, defamation of character, unlawful termination, harassment, and a few other tasty items. It would have pleased me no end to simply file the thing against you, but my lawyer persuaded me that more money would be had by suing both."  
  
Slowly, Edwards sank into her chair. If her face had been pale before, now it was downright ashen. Jim leaned forward in his chair and pinned her with his gaze. "You have been after Blair since that bastard Ventriss made you look like a fool, maybe even before that, but that's the first I'd heard of it. You thought this was a perfect way to get rid of him, apparently. Well, think again. That second lawsuit will see you out on your ass so fast you'd think lightspeed travel was possible."  
  
Fighting back tears, Edwards said, "I -- I don't understand... I don't... the dissertation, he said it was a fraud, but it was about you... I thought..."  
  
"Whatever you thought, lady," Jim snapped, "you were wrong. What was in that dissertation was not intended to see the light of day -- it was an accident that it ever got out. Had you let Blair explain, had you even _tried_ to get a logical explanation out of him instead of first treating him like a cash cow and then vilifying him, you would have understood what was happening. It's way too damn late for that now. You've made your bed, you simple-minded, brown-nosing, fawning, pedantic ignoramus -- now you've got to lie in it."  
  
Jim leaned back in his chair, a smug and vicious smile on his face. Sometimes it paid to hang around Sandburg; his vocabulary had gone up by leaps and bounds just listening to the man talk in his sleep.  
  
Edwards seemed almost incapacitated. She swallowed over and over, apparently trying to form words within her scattered wits, but none were forthcoming. Her jaw trembled and her heart hammered so hard in her chest Jim thought unenhanced hearing could pick it up. He just waited, biding his time... he wasn't the one on the hot seat here. There was nothing she could say, nothing she could do, no place to go but where he wanted her to go.  
  
"What do you want?" she finally whispered in a shaky voice.  
  
"An apology," Jim replied promptly. "Public apology. His records reviewed and wiped of any and all wrong-doing. Glowing letters of recommendation to any academic institution he may choose, since I doubt he'd want to come back here to the land of sycophants and fakers. Forgiveness of all his loans and any other debt he may owe to Rainier."  
  
Her breath hitching, she looked from him to the papers on her desk. "I -- I don't know... I'll have to meet with the board... precedents..."  
  
"You have forty-eight hours," Jim said shortly, then slowly climbed to his feet. With one last look, he limped from her office.  
  
As he reached her door, the door to the outer room opened and Suzanne Tomaki entered. "Suzanne!" he said, genuinely pleased to see her.  
  
"Jim Ellison, as I live and breathe," Suzanne replied, laughing delightedly. "What the hell have you done to yourself now, tried to save the world again?"  
  
"Forgot the bullet-proof tights," he answered her easily, shaking her hand. "You know how it is."  
  
"Yeah, I do, which is why I'm _here_ and not _there_ ," she replied tartly. "You need to come work for me, Jim."  
  
"Oh, yeah, I like I wouldn't drive you crazy," Jim laughed. "No thanks, I'll keep the cape."  
  
Suzanne looked from the stunned Chancellor to Amy, who was diligently typing on her PC, a smug smile on her face, then turned back to Jim and frowned slightly. "Well, uh, I guess I made a wasted trip... but of course, it's never wasted to see you. You out of here?"  
  
"Yeah, just heading back to my ride. Can you believe it, they wouldn't let me drive!" Jim let Suzanne hold the door open for him and walk him out of the administrative building, not even feeling the ache in his thigh.  
  


* * *

  
Blair knew he was avoiding Jim, and hated himself for it. But he also knew that if he and Jim talked, Jim would offer to come help him at the university, and Blair couldn't face that. It was a lengthy process to clean out fifteen years worth of living on one campus; there were things in storage he had forgotten about and personal effects that had been held for him since he moved out of campus housing.  
  
And a lot of his time was spent in the bursar's office, trying to untangle the mess of grants and loans, trying to figure out how much he owed and how deeply in debt he was. The answer, of course, was so deep that he hadn't a hope in hell of getting out.  
  
But finally, it was done, and the last box was out of his office. He had almost expected Edwards to come by to confirm he hadn't stolen anything, but she never showed. A few people did come by, but were either put off by his glum, shell-shocked expression or wanted to avoid him. He figured the latter.  
  
Once the last of it was moved to the loft, Blair went to the station. Since Jim wasn't home, he left a terse note where he'd be, then left to turn in his pass and see the bullpen one more time. He would have preferred to simply pull a Naomi and run -- catch a plane, a train, a bus, hell, hitchhike out of Cascade -- but Blair had never really been like his peripatetic mother. He would face his failures, and wait to see what tomorrow would bring.  
  
Joel found him as he was standing, forlorn, in Simon's empty office. "Hey, Blair, what you up to, man?" he asked gently.  
  
Forcing a smile, Blair replied, "I'm taking a last look around."  
  
"Last look? You going somewhere?" Joel's voice carried sympathy and pain for him, but Blair tried his best to ignore it.  
  
"Well, yeah," he said, nervously smoothing his hair. "I cleaned out my desk over at Rainier. I thought I'd do the same thing here. I'm a fraud, man. I don't think Simon's going to want me hanging around."  
  
Joel opened his mouth to speak, but a bellow from out in the bullpen interrupted him. "Sandburg, that is not your office!"  
  
Blinking, Blair followed Joel out of Simon's office to find the owner of that office resting in a wheelchair being propelled by Rafe. Behind and to the side, Blair saw H and Megan, Jim, of course, and to his surprise, Naomi.  
  
"Hey, Simon, they let you out?" Blair said, the first smile he'd felt in weeks spreading across his face. It almost hurt.  
  
Jim rested heavily on his cane, next to Simon. His face was almost -- tentative, like he was holding something back, something he wasn't sure was good. "Nah, they threw him out," he laughed.  
  
"They didn't throw me out," Simon objected. "They said I was too cantankerous."  
  
"You? No," Jim said over the group's laughter. He pinched Simon's cheek, making the other man bat at his hands.  
  
Naomi was smiling broadly, and looked better than he had expected. She had left for a retreat outside of Cascade shortly after the press conference, apparently sensing she wasn't exactly welcome around the loft. He had been avoiding her too, and felt awful for it. "Mom, what are you doing here?"  
  
Her smile turned a bit regretful, an implied apology. "I'd never miss this occasion, darling," she said mysteriously.  
  
Blair was puzzled by her remark, but let it pass, determined to put a good face on everything. "Know what's great -- everybody's safe and out and happy," he said, forcing a cheerful tone into his voice. Jim shot him a look that said he saw right though it, but Blair didn't care.  
  
"That's not exactly why we asked your mom here," Simon said, misinterpreting his words. "I understand you gave up your job at the university and I saw you over there in my office. So we decided you needed to do something to keep you under control."  
  
Jim looked up from Simon to Blair and said, reluctantly, "You're, uh, you're finished in this department, Chief..."  
  
Not letting him go any further, Blair nodded. He knew the goodwill was too good to be true. "Yeah well, I-I sort of...well, I figured that," he replied hesitantly.  
  
But Jim kept talking. "...as an observer." Abruptly, a small dark thing left his hand. Blair caught it reflexively -- a small wallet -- and opened it.  
  
Inside was a shiny gold detective's badge, waiting for a badge number inscription. "This is, uh... what is this? This is a detective badge. What's going on?" Blair looked up at the expectant, almost gleeful faces confronting him. "I don't deserve this," he said, trying to squash the hope that nearly choked him. It couldn't be true.  
  
Irritably, Simon pushed himself forward and snatched the badge from his hands. Oddly, he already missed the feel of it in his hand. "No, you don't, at least not until you go to the Police Academy and complete firearms training. And if you do, Detective Ellison is looking for a permanent official partner."  
  
Stunned into immobility, Blair could only watch as Jim limped over to stand next to him. The look in Jim's eyes nearly made Blair want to cry -- such an intense combination of hope, fear, trepidation, sympathy... and love?  
  
Forcing himself to look away, Blair croaked out, "Uh... yeah?" Trying to kick-start his brain, he managed to add, "So, uh...does this mean a paycheck?"  
  
"Can you say "back rent"?" Jim replied, laughing. Then, more softly, more sincerely, he added, "Come on, what do you say?" and met Blair's eyes full-on.  
  
Blair felt like he could get lost in those eyes, that pleaded with him, that begged him to stay, to try, to... to...  
  
"Say something, Sandy," Megan said, breaking his reverie.  
  
Blinking, Blair looked at the rest of the crowd and said the only thing he could think of that wouldn't make him into a fool. "I'm still not cutting my hair."  
  
Because he had been watching for it, Blair saw Jim's sudden release of tension, his overwhelming relief and happiness, and laughed in glee along with everyone else. Jim chortled, visibly wrenching himself away from Blair and turning to the crowd. "I'm not going to do it," Blair insisted, laughing for sheer joy.  
  
"That's what you think," Jim said, which should have warned Blair, but he was simply too happy to care. Using the cane as a handle around Blair's neck, Jim hauled him over and put him in a headlock. Blair yelped but didn't really try to escape. "They're going to love you at the Academy," Jim said, giving him a noogie. "Captain, I'm going to make a little Blairskin rug for you here... "  
  
Blair put one arm around Jim's middle, but didn't push him away. "You're not going to scalp me! Forget it!" he cried, nearly laughing too hard to be coherent.  
  
"We got to go down to the woods... I'll get my grandpappy's Bowie knife..." Simon was saying, and everyone else was laughing and talking and cheering, and all Blair could hear and feel was Jim. Jim surrounded him, held him, loved him.  
  
"Are we too late?" a familiar voice said from the door, and Jim released Blair and helped him upright again. Blair let him, but didn't remove his arm from around Jim's waist. In the door stood Grandmother Raven and Violet, smiling tentatively and being greeted by everyone. From the sudden stiffness in Jim's posture, Blair knew he was worried about her reaction. Blair squeezed him tightly.  
  
"It's okay," he murmured, Sentinel soft, and Jim looked down at him.  
  
"Everything's okay now, Chief," Jim said, and smiled.  
  


* * *

  
It would have turned into a raucous, late-night party if so many of the participants hadn't been still injured and on various medications. Instead, the party side of it was postponed until after graduation, and Blair spent his remaining time in the bullpen -- when he wasn't talking to well-wishers -- filling out forms.  
  
Jim watched him closely. While the old bouncy Blair was still subdued and a little sad, slowly the heavy despondency began to ease. As people stopped by, genuinely happy to see him, happy to hear about his tentative plans to go to the academy, Blair's spirits lifted, and his eyes brightened.  
  
Simon only stayed for a few minutes; he was already looking pale and ashen under his dark coloring, so Joel and Rafe bullied him into going home. Darryl met them at the elevators and took over -- Violet going with him which made everyone chuckle. Megan hugged Blair tightly before leaving herself; she told them her meds made her completely dopey and they needed no more ammunition against her.  
  
Although Joel had driven Jim around for the week before, it was Blair who drove him home to the loft that evening. Blair was still a bit subdued, but there was a soft smile on his face now and a sparkle in his eye that helped Jim relax substantially.  
  
Both the smile and the sparkle disappeared, however, shortly after he helped Jim up to the loft. The answering machine held one message -- from Chancellor Edwards, and Jim felt Blair stiffen as soon as her voice filled the loft. But the message was brief, to the point, and gave Jim all the joy he needed.  
  
"You win, Detective," she said shortly and wearily. "All your conditions will be met. Confirmation will be in the mail by close of business tomorrow. I expect you to hold up your end of the bargain." With that, she hung up.  
  
Blair turned from the machine in time to see Jim slap his hand on the table in victory. Had he not been still gimping along, Jim would have danced, and he was wearing what was surely a maniacal grin on his face. Taking all this in carefully, Blair said, "All right, Ellison. Sit. What have you done _now_?"  
  
Rather than fighting him, Jim nodded, still grinning, and hobbled over to the sofa. Arranging himself comfortably took a few moments, but soon he was situated in a corner of the couch with his leg propped up on the coffee table. Blair took a tentative seat on the opposite end of the couch, still waiting suspiciously.  
  
Jim cleared his throat -- this was the part he had been dreading. Blair could be grateful, or angry, or incredulous, or -- well, best to just get it over with. Jim took a deep breath. "I -- uh, I did some stuff over the last couple of days," he started, rather lamely. Blair rolled his eyes. "Well, yeah, I know you know that," he continued, hurriedly. "But you don't know what. The badge... well, that was mostly Simon's idea. Really. He thought of it before I could even start making suggestions. And we can talk about it later," he said in a rush, as Blair opened his mouth to speak.  
  
When Blair closed his mouth, looked at him curiously, then motioned for him to go on, Jim did. His fingers nervously plucked at the back of the sofa. "So. I, uh, went to Naomi and we talked about this Sid guy, and she agreed with me, so I went to my lawyer. Well, not _my_ lawyer, but Dad's. Guy's name is Arthur Sullivan. He's good. When I explained the situation -- and no, I didn't tell him about the senses -- he immediately suggested lawsuit."  
  
Blair's jaw, which had dropped at the first mention of the word 'lawyer', closed with an audible snap. "You filed a lawsuit? Against... against Sid Graham?"  
  
"Uh-huh," Jim said, wincing a bit. "I mean, you can join in as co-plaintiff, that's what Art said, all it takes is your signature. Basically, I'm accusing Graham of ruining my life by making details of a private document public. It doesn't matter whether or not the details were true, according to Art, just that Graham did it. And by bringing in Berkshire Publishing as co-defendant, under the employer-employee--"  
  
"What?" Blair blinked at Jim. "You... " Tugging at his hair, Blair seemed bereft of words, which wasn't necessarily a good sign, Jim thought.  
  
Hastening on, Jim continued. "So, anyway, they were served a few days ago, and they'll probably settle, at least Art thinks so, and that will clear your name there. Then I ambushed Edwards with the suit filed against her..."  
  
"WHAT?" Jim winced again and focused on his knee, which was cocked up on the sofa in front of him. "You filed a suit against Edwards?" The question was an incredulous whisper, and Jim couldn't look up to see Blair's face.  
  
"Well, against her and the university, and it's not actually filed, you see, because it would have had to had you personally as plaintiff, but between the other suit and the threat of that one, she caved... and that's what the call was about." After this rapid speech, he hazarded a quick peek at Blair's face, and saw nothing but astonishment and stunned surprise. Well, at least it wasn't censure or anger -- yet. Taking one last deep breath, Jim finished up. "So, you'll be getting a public apology, letters of recommendation to any institution you want, and full forgiveness of your student debts. Oh, and your records will be... OOF!"  
  
Suddenly, Jim found himself pounced. Blair was laughing and crying and saying his name over and over as he hung his arms over Jim's neck and hugged tightly. It was a bit too much pressure on his good leg, but Jim didn't mind; instead, he just wrapped his arms around Blair and gave as good as he got, relieved that everything was going to be okay. He even said it, several times, as if trying to convince himself.  
  
When Blair finally pulled back, his tear-streaked face was glowing. "You big, dumb ox," he said fondly, smacking Jim's shoulder gently. "I can't believe you went to all this trouble..."  
  
"No trouble, Blair, really," Jim said, then winced as his good leg cramped under the weight.  
  
Blair instantly back-pedaled. "Omigod, I'm sorry, here let me..."  
  
Jim tightened his arm around Blair's back. "It's okay, just let me move my leg... and, uh, I don't mind... if you stay..." he finished shyly. Blair's eyes met his from only a few inches apart, then both men turned away from the intensity. Jim shifted, Blair shifted, and they ended up in substantially the same position, this time with Blair cradled between Jim's legs, resting on his chest.  
  
"It really wasn't any trouble," Jim said thickly. "If I'd had to do more, I would have. Anything it took."  
  
His head buried in Jim's chest, Blair nodded. "I can't believe you sometimes, man," he replied, his own voice as thick as Jim's. "It's like Christmas."  
  
"It's what you deserve, Chief." Jim found himself once more under a deep blue regard, and this time, what he saw reflected there made his breath catch. "It may be the best way I have to tell you how sorry I am," he finished softly, "sorry for everything."  
  
"Jim..." Blair began, then stopped. For a long time, the two men just sat there comfortably, looking at each other and reveling in the closeness. Finally, Jim raised his hand to brush at a stray tear on Blair's face.  
  
"We can talk about the badge stuff tomorrow, if you want," Jim said. "There's time. Tonight, well, I was thinking we should just call out for Thai."  
  
Blair nodded and swallowed. "Yeah. There's time. You've bought me the gift of all the time in the world, Jim. I can't... I can't ever repay that."  
  
Jim sighed. "You're not listening, Sandburg," he said in a mock growl. He shook Blair gently. "I owed _you_. Hell, I still owe you. You saved my life, my sanity. You're... you're everything to me, Chief. Everything."  
  
Blair looked deeply into Jim's eyes, as if trying to gauge, to assess, the emotion he saw there. Jim let it all shine out, hoped it was all shining out, hoped Blair could see everything he couldn't say, all the words that choked in his throat. Apparently satisfied, Blair's face softened, and one of the patented Sandburg Smiles slowly blossomed. "Thank you," he whispered.  
  
Hesitantly, cautiously, Blair inched closer to Jim. Hardly breathing, never taking his eyes off Blair's, Jim also moved his head, tilting it very slightly, careful to move only in millimetric increments. Xeno's Paradox notwithstanding, they eventually made contact, and Blair's lips touched Jim's in a hesitant, open-eyed kiss. Simultaneously, they both sighed, two sets of blue eyes sagged shut, and they repeated the kiss -- not so hesitantly. Then Jim opened his mouth and tasted Blair -- his partner, his best friend, his life -- for the first time.  
  
It was like coming home.

end


End file.
